Onyx Chronicles: Where The Swindlers Are
by Masterless
Summary: Onyx the Dragonborn ventures into Swindlers Den. A gang of thieves have taken refuge in this little cave and the Dragonborn seeks justice on his own accord. Though justice is subjective in a volatile world like Skyrim.
1. Where the Swindlers Are I

**-ONYX-**

"HNNNNNFFF!"

"Fnuufh nnf uf GU!"

Their protest were more or less incoherent to anyone around them; the audibility of their pleas were also decreased and from what I would surmise is that their speech impeded with something. What that something is I'm about to find out. I keep myself as low as I can as, avoiding any thing on the ground that could make noise detrimental to my progress. Boethian's gift is more than advantageous to many of my illusive endeavors; aside from the fact that the ebony armory I am wearing is black as night, the black smoke that surrounds me as a form of disguise in the shadows is more than welcome; it has made many of many of my enemies oblivious to my presence until it's too late. The bandits close to the entry way of this cave never had a chance thanks to me sneaking about like a looming shadow and good for it; I needed them dealt with as stealthy as possible for as I creep up another entry way, I finally find the source of all the muffled pleas. And with that, I find the rest of the bandits occupying Swindler's Den.

"Ffupf! FFUF! Fnuufh!"

"You're a feisty one aren't you?"

The entrance of this cave was pretty much your standard norm cave; the rather intricate décor of what nature has to offer mingling with a few vagabonds' materials like a sleeping sack, a campfire to roast a skeever, and so forth. As I got deeper into it, I am led to see that the occupants of the cave has a great room where a 'dining hall' is set up with three tables lines up together; grand on its own right as if trying to replicate Whiterun's ambiance in their own great room. Here is where the majority of the crew mingle with their mead to quench their thirst and well cooked venison chops to fill their hunger. Here is where they do what lawless men do; at this case, two women, one wood elf and the other of imperial heritage find themselves to be the main course of entertainment. Their incoherent pleas are the result of a thick cloth tied between their lips held tight by the knot tied behind their neck. Their lips strained by the bulging knot wedged behind their teeth; I would also assume that something is stuffed inside their mouths behind the cleave gag, filling their mouth to the brim.

"Mu fuhfhnuh ufnu fu fuuuhmn umfh fhn fhnuhunf ufh ffum! Hn umnn fnuhughfnuh ufh mf ufh nuhu uhnufhnuh fmngnuh un mn!"

I take note of the wood elf in her dire position as she and her fellow captive are indeed like the main course for these men. Despite her disadvantageous position, she still has some fight left in her. For now. Placed as some sort of decoration or meal on the table, her hands are forced behind her palm to palm and effectively bound with a few loops of rope. To further ensure that her hands would have an even strenuous task of struggling, more ropes are bound around shoulders, wrapped about her bosoms, pinning her arms to her upper body thus again, making escape with her hands almost impossible. While the ropes are practically the only form of clothing on her upper body, they also act as a humiliating aesthetic 'design'; their tight constriction forcing her breasts to 'form'. The orc who is taunting the poor girl is making sure that his hands find themselves happily all over her lack of modesty.

"What was that?"

The orc takes it upon himself to further elicit a rather forced reaction out of the helpless wood elf by flicking her pink nipples causing her to jolt forward and pulling on her binds. From the groan through her gag I can tell that the flinch of her wrist bindings had caused an aggravation on her also bound womanhood. A rope tied between the lips of her sex, formed at her naval and connected to her wrists; the cruel intent was for every attempt or movement, the girl is forced to feel a myriad of sensations in her sacred area. As if that wouldn't be enough of an insult, the way she is kneeling on the table with more than highlights her humiliation. Getting up would result in a rather painful tumble since her legs are crudely bound with her ankles tied to her thighs. While the bondage would indeed hinder leg movement a LOT, it does serve a purpose of giving her captors the ability to force her legs spread as she is right now; not that having both ankles tied together would make the situation any less degrading, it would probably deter SOME of the crotch rope's touch and of course keep some modesty.

"Bu Ufhuuuuh fhmf... fhmf mf numn! Ufh munffnuhf!"

Her imperial fellow captive isn't any better herself since she has the same bondage. Minus the fact that her left leg is free of the forced bent position for whatever reason. The free leg dangles on the side of the table gripped by the painful claws of the raven furred khajiit.

"You would be well if you continue, whore," From the tone of the khajiit's voice and the rhythm of his tail's wagging, it would be obvious to anyone that he is elated with the trussed up girl's predicament. The imperial captive sees it too and she turns her head away, closing her eyes tightly and mewling into her gag. "If you stop fighting then I would assume that you're better off dead."

The khajiit uses one of his claws to take the strand of hair out of her face as she is obviously quivering in her position. She has a lot less bravery than elf; the others who are sitting on the table this poor girl is forced to be on knows that she is the 'one' if they wish to do the deed without much effort.

"Ah, she still has some."

"Ffupf... pfnuufh..."

"Damn you S'enji for winning that bet! I want next!"

I pay no mind to the ramblings of this 'S'enji's' peers. I keep my eyes locked on the poor girl's peril; quivering in her inability to stop this stalker from playing with shoulder length auburn hair. Letting out pathetic whimpers through her gag, she instinctively tug on her wrist binds evoking yet another unwanted(and yet wanted) sensation in between her legs. Despite her fellow captive's much more rambunctious struggles against her bonds and her captives, regardless of the fact that the wood elf is louder against her gag, attracting a lot more cat calls and taunting from these marauders, for some reason, the other girl… the one in the khajiit's mercy, her lack of fruitless struggling and pitiful mewls are far more prominent than a fiery damsel in distress in my eyes.

Regardless, I have seen enough. It's time to make my move.

**To Be Continued...**


	2. Where the Swindlers Are II

**-ONYX-**

I take note of the breton battle mage on the higher ground of the cave on my right side. Clearly it's more of a vantage point for him; killing the mage would be prudent considering I'm not entirely too thrilled of being bombarded with destructive spells while I deal with the bandits closer to me. A blade to his throat would be more stealthier and the less alarming method, but that would require me being up close to him, and doing that would really mean I have to go through the main social area, through the humiliating activity. Too much factors, too many torches lit; even the black mist won't keep me out of sight. I retract my gaze back at towards the main crew… obviously the three sitting on the table who are entertained by the quivering bound and gagged imperial girl… an archer of course is the khajiit S'enji, a nord with a battle axe sheathed on his side, then the other is most likely another breton who seems to have a sword. On the table where the orc is having his feel on the wood elf girl's fruitless struggling, another dumner who seems to have two blades with her ready; of course this orc has a gigantic steel sword sheathed behind him, obviously to match his steel armor as well. So far six in sight and as I whispered to detect any other aura I may be dealing with, I am able to find another behind within the rear end of this cave… I remember this place well enough before these low lives claimed it for their own. I had to deal with a few Redguards here who came with numbers; I remember the battle behind the waterfalls and even I had to depend on clever tactics; the battle was one nonetheless, but the present right now does offer its own set of trouble… not so much the number of opponents but the situation.

Seven so far. There used to be eleven of them it would seem, with the four having been dealt with silently. Swindler's Den housed a dozen of these low lives and kept them safe from justice's hands. How many helpless women such as these two have fallen to their ways? No matter. Justice isn't what I am here for. Unlike the previous encounter I had with the three nords and the khajiit in the entrance of this cave, this one won't be so easy. Stealth will only work once and if I am to spare the captives' lives, I need to pick wisely. Avarice is already locked with a poisonous bolt ready to fire; staying within the confines of my shadow, I veer my aim towards the breton mage who is enjoying his view of the 'show' from the top corner. Taking a deep breath… I aim. One shot to kill and it would leave me with six more to deal with. Just one.

I press the trigger and the result was the deadly bolt sticking right into the battle mage's eye socket. Instant death.

"Thought I heard something."

The table with the most bandits is the closest to my first kill. Both the nord and the khajiit immediately turned where their former teammate let out his last sound from his death. With Avarice's enchantment working to its finest as the breton dies, I feel his life seeping into me, slightly giving me a renewed sense of vitality.

"Rodore, everything alright over-?"

That must've been his name, but now he's just a carcass. His useless weight falls from the top and right into the ground very close the table where the festivity with the imperial captive was happening.

"UMUMNNF HNNF MN!"

The bound and gagged naked woman saw the dead body and frantically screamed through her gag as well as finding some sort of vigor to thrash in her bonds. By now the bandits are on full alert, weapons being drawn or grabbed and immediately looking for the one responsible for the death. Looking for me. By now the wood elf herself struggles fervently. Both hers and her fellow captive's muffled cries are joining the fray of the confused and alert marauders.

"The one who is responsible will pay!"

That would be me. It won't take long until my location will be revealed so with Avarice loaded with another bolt, I move forward, aim and with that I shoot the nord, right into his trachea, sealing the deal on yet another opponent, again the life force of the dead nord pervading within me. Two down, and by now, their other companion has made her way out of whatever she was doing behind the walls; with her in addition to the crew here with a mace and shield, I also have an orc with the affinity for a great sword, two archers, and a dumner with two blades in tow. This will be a fight indeed.

"There! That black mist moves! Some conjurer of shadows!"

Of course it would be the damn dark elf to take note of me. The rest of them followed her words; including the damsels whose eyes are now filled with some hope as well as fears. Their struggles had also concurred with their facial expressions; behind their knotted rags they start letting loose with their muffled concerns, more or less. For now it's best to ignore them as the breton and the khajiit had let their arrows fly. No use hiding in the shadows as I rolled out of the way from the shots and fired my next bolt; it will probably be my last shot since the others are getting close. Luckily that bolt took aim and I managed to hit S'enji somewhere vital, which caused him to snarl in pain and drop his bow. That's one less archer for the moment and the other one shot his next one, which I barely evaded from stepping to the side. No use for the shadows; time to confront them in my full form.

"It's him!" The shadow that is upon me vanishes as soon as I commanded it to by thought. The breton archer yelled as soon as the enchanted mist evaporates. "That's him!"

"What are you babbling about, Odvan?!"

"I think what he means is, Ghorlorz , is that this ebony man is none other than 'Onyx'. The Dragonborn."

The female dunmer knows my name. The archer Odvan knows of my kills; I can see it in his eyes as his hands are trembling while holding his bow. Ghorlorz, who seems to hold the command presences with his great sword merely, looks at his companions dumbfounded. I take note of the redguard who stands herself close to the trussed up wood elf who, along with her fellow captive also holds that astonished look through their eyes and the forced posture of their face thanks to cleave gag.

"UUUGUNBUUN?!"

The wood elf muttered as she shifts uncomfortably in her bondage. The imperial girl starts to let out tears as she starts pleading through her gag. Probably asking for my help or what not.

"The Dragonborn?!"

By now I find myself sheathing my crossbow behind me. I could take more kills as they gawk and ponder upon my presence. My history more than often precedes me; for good or bad, one can't ever truly tell until the spur of the moment. For this moment it does serve the purpose of intimidation factor and its result is apparent through the breton who is practically ready to run and the with the rather delayed progress of the dunmer. She seems almost in awe that I am the 'one'.

"Fool! He kills a few of us and I'm supposed to believe that this is supposed to be Alduin's bane?"

"He bears the gifts of the Daedric gods! The Masque of Clavicus Vile is upon his head!"

The breton is indeed educated with his daedric lore. Though the said helmet is indeed distinguishable with the prominent horns and the intricate 'metal face' that has Avalea's story behind it. I wear it for the reason to hide my eyes that tells the origin of my kin.

"The shadows he conjures are of Boethia's powers," And of course the dark elf knows her Daedric goddess. Boethia might take kind to her as soon as I slay her. "This is the Dragonborn known to many as Onyx."

"Huupfh! HNNF!" The imperial girl's pleas are obviously adhering to desperation.

"Fnf mn fuhnn uhnu Uh umnn muhgn fuuhn ufh uuuhn uhnuuuuhnu fhu mu fnuhn!" The wood elf chimes in with the imperial as she struggles fruitlessly despite the obvious sensations of the rope tied between her womanhood.

"Who …. Cares…!" The raspy and strained voice is from the khajiit S'enji who is favoring his left arm from a bolt still painfully penetrating his dark fur. "… Curse… this fool to… Oblivion!"

"My thoughts exactly." The orc grips his sword tightly with both hands on the hilt. "There is a handsome price for the death of this 'dragonborn'! And Ghorlorz the mighty will be the one to claim the price!"

Asinine and ignorant souls. They know not what they do. They are oblivious of what I truly am. Sadly, the damsels in distress, as conveyed through their pleas and the worries in their eyes knows nothing about me as well. I am far more than Dragonborn. I am more than the armor that keeps my true face a secret. This will be their undoing. My right hand finds itself on the hilt of my katana. They may know of my past but they are about to be introduced to 'me'.

**To Be Continued...**


	3. Where the Swindlers Are III

**-ONYX-**

Most orcs I have met are quick to their blade; not necessarily fast in skill but more or less think their best with a blade in hand. For Ghorlorz's sake it would be both hands on his blade, which makes him twice as smart. As the distance closes and another arrow shoots my way, I find my blade extracted from its sheathe. The red glow on Muramasa accentuates the idea that blood will be spilled soon enough; not my blood. The arrow from Odvan missed and it's pretty apparent his aim is influenced by his fear. The redguard follows Ghorlorz as they come close ready for their weapons to maul me. I take note of the dumner who seemed to have sheathed her blades; S'enji still favoring his arm from my previous attack; staying close to one of the captives. The two groaning through their gags as their bound forms remains ever so useless as the moment rolls by. As Ghorlorz's great sword is poised high to come down at me, the redguard prepares to take her opening if I evade; through the naked eye things happen too fast; to me, time slowed down, almost too slow and I can see things too clearly which allows me to properly plan my movement.

Muramasa is a sword that even the Blades would revere; it glows in crimson from the enchantment akin to Avarice and with a sharpness that could cut through dragon bone with ease, all it ever needs is the proper mediator of its strength. It has served me well for I serve it with the same respect; this battle would further show the honor of both blade and swordsman. Forward is the direction I take and with the way the orc had decided to take first strike the opening is far more apparent. The katana in my hands cuts in an upward angle, through this thigh and right through his steel greaves. By now the redguard is in range and she is already taking her first steps as if she was able to read my mind; while she may indeed be skilled in the means of sword play, so am I and the fact of the matter is that there are forces in Tamriel that pays homage to my skills. Boethia's gifts are one those. The black mist emerges again, and like some black locust, they start to poison her, making her vision blurred and actions delayed; the open wound of Ghorlorz also suffers from the magic being conjured up so the orc is out of the picture for a while, the redguard however…

"Why… why aren't you …. Fighting, Sherelle?!" I hear S'enji yell at the dunmer as I thrust my leg at the redguard's shield; the poison is indeed taking hold for she falters and drops her shield.

"Boethia is with him," Sherelle answers coldly. Her hands out of reach from her daggers. "And he is dragonborn. He was the one that deterred Alduin's wrath."

The redguard tries her best to overcome the factors against her as she strikes with her mace; sloppy and easy to evade. I step to the side and with a quick spin, Muramasa slashes in a circular arc; its sharp blade cutting through intended target. Her head flying off from her shoulders and her headless body falls limp to the ground. The sound of her mace hitting the ground echoes and the weight of her head follows after. One more kill …. Another soul. The muffled screams of both the imperial and the wood elf echoes; do they scream through their gag out of disgust or joy that they are one step closer to freedom? That I do not know; nor do I give it much care as the orc is now trying his hand despite his wound taking the best of him. I quickly turn to him and with a quick summon of my dragon voice, I shout at him; the force sending him to fly and hit some corner of the cave in a VERY painful and lethal manner. His armor might've been more detrimental than helpful with the impact he experienced; if he isn't dead then he has more than enough bones broken to keep him out of the fight. I hear his cry of pain in the distance as the unrelenting force did it's intended job.

"Uuuuhgunfhuuhn! HNNF! FNNUFN!"

The sound of one of the captives and somewhere in their muffled pleas is the voice of S'enji.

"Uh mmpfnuuhn ufh fu gmnn fhmf guuhmmmf!"

I turn around with blade still in tow and I catch the image of S'enji holding a dagger into the imperial girl's neck. The blade so close that it's almost piercing her skin; most likely if he pushes just a bit more it will break skin. The girl's eyes spells terror and she remains as stark still as she can not moving a muscle. With all of the duress on her body as it is… staying still would be prudent. The wood elf is the exact opposite however as she continues to find some sort of purchase within the bonds that holds her stature captive.

"Come a bit closer …. Than where you are…. Dragonborn," S'enji's injury is still taking a toll on him, but he keeps his knife firm on the bound girl's neck. "And you'll find… that being a hero …. Has ramifications…."

"Fnuufh... Fnuufh... Uun'f nnf... hmm..."

"That blade… in your … hand…. Drop it…"

I can see her fear as she whimpers pitifully against the cloth impeding her speech. S'enji's bravery falters or stands depending on my action. Depending on how much I care about these captives is where his fate stands. He's about to find out.

"Good…. Move… Dragonborn…"

"Uun'f... uun'f nnf hmm..." Tears pouring from the imperial's eyes from fear and minor relief.

"UUN'F! UUU FUUN! HN'NN GMNN UF UNN!" The wood elf however isn't showing any sort of elation through my actions. Rightfully so. I know what this khajiit is up to.

I can almost feel the jubilance emanating from S'enji's fur as he sees me lowering my blade hand as if to comply with his demands. The one thing that never ceases to appall me is that some of these bandits and low lives never got the to grasp the gamut of my capabilities. To deter Alduin is far more excruciating than slaying a normal frost dragon or even a revered dragon at that. And yet there they are tempting fate with mere threats and to use a helpless woman for their method…. My advantage lies in the notion that only the worthy adversaries have seen an inkling of my full capabilities. These low lives are just moment's entertainment that have long expired. I take a deep breath and with that…

"Now… Ta-ggghhhhkkk!"

A simple word gives me plenty of things to use on the whim. The perks of being a Dragonborn; the voice of the dragons, their power, and their valor are mine. Situation dictates which one I would tamper with and this situation calls for movement faster than the naked eye. Like the invisible wind sprinting through the open space, I move towards S'enji and I sever his arm off his body and almost in the same moment I cut off his head. As time moves slower for me ,I take a slight interest at his head floating in the air before it hits the table, bounced off the general area where the imperial's bound womanhood was and then it slides rolls off the table. His arm fell still grasping the dagger and his body followed not too long after. For a few moments all I hear is the hard and scared breathing of the imperial. Her naked chest heaving up and down but the moment the sound of the khajiit's head had hit the table close to her, she immediately jumped, almost falling in her tightly trussed up position, her gagged voice piercing through the cloth binding her lips.

"Your legends are far more alluring when witnessed one's naked eye."

Sherelle's voice carries over beyond the muffled pleas of the captives who are probably asking for their freedom; or giving praise. I sheathe Muramasa before looking over towards the dumner's direction.

"Cajoling me does not deter your fate, dunmer," I say harshly as I take a few steps towards her. "Your crimes are still weighing heavily over you."

Sherelle doesn't waver in her stoic expression. For a moment there was no reaction out of her, instead she stands there like a statue of some sort, staring coldly at me with those red eyes of hers. When she makes a movement, I myself don't pester with my own reactions. Her intent wasn't malice; quite the opposite actually. Despite her reaching for her weapons, I knew better. Of course the two who are still helpless to the situation vocally attempt their concerns. Obviously their words are only incoherent jabbers to me. My attention remains as stark as can be as the enchanted glass daggers are now in her grasps; but as I astutely have predicted, they are not for hostility. Instead she puts them on the ground and takes a few steps back away from it. A sign of surrender.

"I will have no quarrels with Boethia's sword. The one who trades words with the Gods and uses the words of the Dragons is an enemy best suited for the fools."

"And you are not, Sherelle?" I take a few steps towards her.

"My fate Onyx, is in your hands."

As she says those words her hands are raised towards me and placed together. With her wrists connected and her palms relaxed as they were, it's almost like she is offering herself to submission. Within my helmet, I make no change to my expression. Reverence is something of the norm to where I am and for that, I'll indulge whenever the situation seems adequate. I walk towards her grabbing a length of rope along the way. This is one of those times I'll indulge willingly.

"Indeed."

With that response I spin her around so that her back would be to me. My eyes scanning and making sure that this isn't a ruse of some sort to try and get the upper hand. She makes no movements against me so for now, things are look up. Taking the ropes, I start to bind her wrists together, palm to palm cinching ever so tightly and making sure that the knots stay out of reach from her fingers. With the final pull of her wrist binds, she lets out a slight gasp from the restricting sensation it had caused.

"You would take me as a slave, Dragonborn?"

"What insinuates that?"

"A mere thought. Just trying to fiddle with the options of what my fate might be."

"Fnhmhfuhmu?!"

I ignore the incoherent pleas of the captives and continue with my actions binding Sherelle. Reciprocating the 'treatment' that the imperial and the wood elf received, I enhance the wrist bind's restriction by adding more ropes above and below her breasts. The coarse material of the said rope is tight enough to cause wrinkles in her leather armor and of course highlighting her womanly assets.

"You're not clear of sins, are you, Dragonborn?"

My hands traces her pouches and looking for something to obstruct her speech. Luckily she keeps enough small cloths in her pouches that would suffice for her gag.

"To receive Boethia's grace requires some atrocious acts," I offer the cloth to her mouth and her lips part willingly. "You of all people should know that, dunmer."

I push the cloth in her mouth, pass her teeth and stuffing her mouth to the brim. She lets out sounds of discomfort but does nothing to really try and evade or absolve some of the disdain she is experiencing. As soon as her mouth is fully stuffed, I take the other cloth and once again reciprocate the binds on her captives' mouth. Knotting the middle, I place that in between her lips and affectively cleave gagging her with the knot of hidden under her shoulder length black hair. The tautness of it is displayed quite prominently through the grimace on her face. With her words no longer adequate, I continue the binding process, lashing another cord around her navel and with it secured, I set the said rope between her legs and right into her own womanhood. Her eyes staring at the rope the whole time and even still as I position myself behind her for the inevitable securing of the crotch rope.

"UUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!"

The immediate vocal response from Sherelle pierces through Swindler's Den's open space. Her physical reaction concurring with her gagged plea as she is now on her tip toes as if trying her best to alleviate some of the affect of me pulling on the rope in an upward angle. Despite her leather pant's protection, the penetration of the rope and with the force I enforce causes enough strain to adequately show through body language. As I kept the rope up for a few moments, she continues to groan through her gag and the other gagged captives also lets out their opinions. With that, I ease my force and proceed to bind the crotch rope. Tight and properly place in between her sex, any movement from her hands would cause more than enough sensations to hinder or perhaps entice her… more or less. Ignoring her muffled words, I ease her down so that she would sitting on her behind. The process was of course more than uncomfortable given the circumstances. From there I bind her ankles together, once again applying the same tautness in the bondage so that it would cause the leather material of her boots to distort. I then give her knees the same treatment, causing more movements from her legs to be further hindered. There was one more thing to do before I finish.

"For one who abides by shadows and stealth," I say as I trace my hands about her boots searching for something peculiar. "You do not carry weapons that would be helpful in this situation. Or perhaps," With that I roll her over to her stomach with very little care about her well being. Again I evoke a few more garbled complaints in the process. "You never fathomed that you would find yourself in such a predicament."

Pushing her ankles to her rear I take another coil of rope and bind them to her wrists leaving very little room for movement. The process of making the hogtie causes more unwanted(or wanted) movements with her hands which of course causes her crotch rope deeper in her. Her 'silent' moans insinuate a bit more of both pain and pleasure, it would seem. Finally the hogtie is done and Sherelle finds herself in a very restricting position. Taking her glass daggers to my grasp, I stand up with my eyes looking down on her. Her own red orbs staring back at me. Confusion in those eyes accentuates just how unclear my intent is for her as she sees it. But one thing is for sure and I'm more than aware that she feels it: I didn't spend that time binding her just to kill her.

"Your former comrade's blades are everywhere. If you have the will and the allotment you can worm yourself towards them and free yourself," There are more than enough weapons to help her in her plight. But movement would be difficult for more than one reason. I turn my eyes towards the captives who are also awaiting their fate. Their eyes of course spelling the need for them to be released of their bondage and gaining some modesty back. "But now you can get a bit of what your captives felt with every struggle, Sherelle."

With both glass daggers in my hand, I walk towards the wood elf. My actions as of late may have caused some ambivalence in her for there is fear now within her green eyes. She squirms as much as her revealing yet confining position would allow her. I can see her lips quivering despite the cloth binding her speech.

**To Be Continued...**


	4. Where Te Swindlers Are IV

The dagger on my left has lightning element emanating from it; the other is of ice. The enchantment is mediocre at best. I've come across far more powerful blades but I suppose I've had quarrels with lesser gifted foes. Perhaps the others' weapons hold some sort of fancy, but those days of me scavenging for the next more efficient weapon has passed. Now I have a reputation that precedes me and sometimes it bodes well for me.

"Fuun! Muuhf uuuhn ufh uumng?! UNNNUFN UF!"

The wood elf proceeds to thrash about her bindings despite the discomfort or perhaps any danger that would come out from struggling too hard. With the look in her eyes she is expecting the worse as I ominously walk towards her holding the two daggers that was once one of her captor's possession. That said captor, the only one left, is now restrained and almost reciprocating the lost of pride since I can hear Sherelle's grunts through her gag. Must be the rope tied tautly between her womanhood. But this wood elf's sacred area is not protected from the texture of the ropes since she has been stripped of her clothing. Regardless, she tugs, she contorts her body to whatever way her bondage would allow her not showing any inhibitions to the sensations that crotch rope is giving her. Perhaps fear is the greater emotion out of this.

"The fight remains in you." I say rather cryptically as I am now standing close to her. Her eyes are still showing fear despite the mild defiance in her struggles and her glaring. "This will be an easier task then."

"Ufh umnn fuffnuh! UUU MMNN FUFFNU! UUU FUN'F UU FHMF!"

Within those garbled words are also screams for her life as the glass dagger stabs downwards. The sound however isn't blade-penetrating flesh, instead it is now stabbed on the table on where this wood elf finds herself unceremoniously displayed. Looking at the dagger that is in the general vicinity of her bound womanhood, she then turns her eyes on me with a perplexed expression.

"Freedom is in your grasp. Keep fighting for it."

What follows after my words are a series of discontented muffled ranting that I didn't bother to give any more attention to. I have turned my back on her the moment I said my piece and from the sound of it all is that the wood elf is now on a restrained rampage on trying to truly let me know how she feels about my decision. No matter. Now I have turned my full attention to the imperial girl who has been a bit more 'peaceful' than her fellow captive.

"Muuhf... uuuhf uuuhn ufh pfnuhnnmng... un uumng fu... mn?"

If I can understand her I'm sure her words would adhere to how pitiful she sounds through her gag. She takes note of Sherelle's last dagger that is also in my hand and I can tell there is fear with what I may do or perhaps the fate I left the wood elf also frightens her. People like her are the pure prey of the hostile environment of Skyrim. I myself have been a victim for a while until I realized my destiny… perhaps… I shake the thoughts off as I stab the dagger close to her womanhood like I did with the wood elf. Of course she flinches and squeals having thought of the worse in this scenario.

"Be still." Of course she does the opposite and shoots her head back as I reach out towards her to remove her gag. Of course in her position, there isn't much place she can go. "Freedom of speech is a step better than your current situation, girl."

Whether or not she heard my words, I was already on my way to untying the cloth that is binding whatever is stuffed in her mouth. I ease the knot out of her mouth and with the gag gone, the rest of her auburn hair falls to her shoulders. Immediately after the knot is out of her mouth, she makes a very harsh effort of spitting out the stuffer. It takes her a few moments but eventually she frees her mouth of it. I take note that it seems to be a lingerie of some sort, drenched with her saliva from having been used as a stuffer. I would only surmise it would either be hers or depending on how malicious and perverted these bandits were it… could be the wood elf's and the stuffer on the bosmer's mouth could be the imperial girl's. But that is not something I should focus my attention on as I revert my focus back on the girl.

"Ah….. Please….. please…. Set me free…." She tries to move her hands to elaborate on her words. Of course it got her nowhere but to aggravate her womanhood with the crotch rope.

"Name." I respond coldly. Her stare wavers from mine so I take her chin and force her to make contact with my helmet's hollow face. "Give me your name, girl."

"R-Rena…. I.. I was… on my… my way back… to Falkearth.. and…"

"How you got yourself in this debacle is not of my concern, Rena." I take a few steps back and tap lightly on the hilt of the glass dagger. The ebony gauntlet echoes with the material of the dagger. "What matters now is how you get yourself out of here."

Her face spells far more confusion than solace at the moment, and I would understand her plight. Now with my back turned, I start to walk away, towards the entrance of this cave.

"Wait! You'll just leave us here!? WAIT!"

"The dagger is close. Some things you have to do on your own. Learn that lesson well, Rena, and perhaps you have yet a chance in this volatile world of Skyrim."

"FMMNN! UUU'UN NU HNUU! UUU'UN UF FMMFFNU UF FHN UNFF UF FHNM!"

While the bosmer screams through her gag with her discontent with how I am leaving them, she has made some efforts towards the knife. Her effort will be a bit more excruciating since both her legs are still forced bent and tied the way it is while Rena has more leeway. It's up to her to find it in her to free herself. Sherelle on the other hand slumps in her bonds, humbly accepting her fate. She could perhaps free herself faster than the others despite her strict hogtie, however she makes no movement. She merely looks down while trying her best not to move a muscle. Her fate would be under Rena and the bosmer's hands if they free themselves. What would they inflict up her if that is indeed the will of the moment? With that I keep walking away. Rena and the wood elf continue to shout for me … If they manage to undo what has been done to them… this story will be told. Another one to add to the story of the Dragonborn.

The Lover Stone.

I slowly slide off the Masque of Clavicus Vile letting the cool air hit my face. While the daedric artifact that adorns my face gives me clear vision, nothing is like having to set my own eyes upon the gifts I have given as a tribute. They serenade the ground adding more vibrancy in the almost dull setting of the Lover Stone. Soul gems grand and great, jewelry, enchanted blades, dragon bones… a myriad of things that I have earned, scavenged, and bought are scattered in no decorating pattern to them whatsoever, but they do their job as décor well enough. The torch I have set on one of the pillar has burned out and it takes a quick breath of flame to relight the tribute. The insignia of the lover stone is now even more prominent as I like it to be. Taking a deep breath, I let out a bellow of power towards the sky causing the surroundings to distort for a moment with the force I released. The skies are bright from all the stars. Then suddenly the stars are blanketed with black clouds. Shortly after, the sound of thunder and rain takes over and soon the storm I have summoned is now drenching the area with its power. While keeping my eyes on the carved form of the woman within this celestial stone, I kneel down, placing the Masque beside me.

"Lover," I say. "I have not fed in some time…. Will this atone for my sins?"

As always there is no answer. The shimmering of the trinkets, the crackling of fire getting hit by water, the waterfalls around me, and of course the storm is the only response I get….

The life of this Dragonborn is only through solitude and the will to do what is deemed justified at the moment….

**The End. For Now.**


End file.
